


Falling

by misszeldasayre



Category: Avatar (TV), Avatar: Legend of Korra, Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Angst, Existential Angst, Family, Friendship, Gen, Loneliness, Male Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-10 19:18:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12305943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misszeldasayre/pseuds/misszeldasayre
Summary: An aging Aang struggles to keep in touch with Zuko as they deal with the responsibility of sustaining peace among the Four Nations.





	Falling

The first time Aang visits Izumi, his heart burns. This is the Fire Lord's world, swaddled in a blanket, resting in his arms. Zuko doesn't need him anymore. Not in the same way. Aang will continue to provide good counsel, but he is no longer Zuko's family.

The older Aang grows, the more he misses his friends. Traveling alone never has been his style, yet more and more, he's being called upon to fly across the Four Nations. So he takes his son Tenzin penguin sledding at the South Pole, dancing through Fire Nation villages, riding elephant koi in Earth Kingdom waters. Having someone to share these activities with again feels good.

But that sense of loneliness never leaves him. He is the Avatar. He, alone, must maintain the balance of the new world, a world that keeps evolving, a world he struggles to keep up with.

His thoughts turn to Zuko whenever he sees a fiery sunset. He wonders how his friend manages to hold up under the weight of his crown. The letters Aang receives from the palace don't disclose much, leaving him to guess how Zuko's really doing. His calm facade still surprises Aang sometimes. He remembers a firebender with a hair trigger, but the Fire Lord who writes him letters is levelheaded. Sometimes Aang feels like the irrational one.

Irrational because who in their right mind longs for the days when they scrounged for food in the woods and ran from Azula, or the long weeks following the unsteady peace emerging in the wake of Ozai's death? Still, Aang longs for one more ride on Appa with his friends. He misses Sokka's rumbling stomach, Momo's burrowing in his shirt, even Toph and Katara's bickering over who's responsible for setting up camp.

Most of all, he misses the easy moments where he and Zuko shared a joke or laughed at their traveling companions. When Aang couldn't sleep, it was Zuko awake by the fire. When Aang struggled to master firebending, it was Zuko who showed him the steps again. When Aang wooed Katara, it was Zuko who offered his limited experience with girls as a source of knowledge for his friend.

He writes Zuko every month, but it isn't the same as talking to him face to face. Those opportunities grow rarer as the men grow busier, always a rebellion to squash or a peace treaty to negotiate. The Fire Lord's letters grow more terse as the summer shortens. He's busy, Aang supposes, but that doesn't stop his shoulders from sagging.

To be a good father or to be the Avatar, that is the question that plagues Aang. His duty is to his family, but also to the Four Nations. It's a difficult balancing act, and Aang's arms grow tired the older he gets. Except then he observes Zuko ruling a nation and raising a compassionate, intelligent daughter with apparent ease. Of course he complains a bit in his letters, but Aang suspects he's doing that just to be kind to his old friend. He sees him sponsoring new industries, partnering with Toph to create a police force capable of protecting the United Republic, and can't help but feel out of place.

It's like everyone he knows learned the steps to a new routine and never shared them with him. He's dancing the same old dance, but no one's moving in sync with him. It feels like he's been frozen in ice again for a hundred years while the world keeps turning, putting more distance between him and the friends he used to see.

He can't keep track of Toph now. Sometimes she visits her daughter in Zaofu— this much Aang knows— but he hasn't heard news of her showing up there for a while. It's just like Toph to pick up and leave without saying a word. Aang still feels the loss keenly.

He's the Avatar, the last of the airbenders. He's grown accustomed to feeling alone, but only in name. Zuko has always been by his side, advocating for the integration of nations, building the United Republic of Nations alongside him, writing him even as Toph and Sokka become too busy to visit. He can hear Zuko's exhaustion seeping through the pages of his letters. He's growing old and has a family of his own. Aang doesn't want to disrupt him.

Besides, Aang should rely on his wife for support. Katara— sweet beautiful Katara— always by his side, always listening for the words he doesn't say. Her love makes Aang feel like he has found his home again. Still, she doesn't understand: she's always had Sokka and her father, friends and children to keep her company. The handful of times Aang mentions the overwhelming sense of loneliness threatening to engulf him, Katara's frown deepens. Aang wants to explain that she's no less because he needs Zuko, too. He wants to shout that he couldn't survive without her by his side. But the distance in her eyes closes the conversation, and Aang is left sensing that he is lonelier than ever. Then she reminds him of the people who love him, who need him. "You're not alone," she murmurs as she traces his tattoos.

But he is. This new world is quick to turn on him, to criticize his every move. His past lives can only offer advice based off of their own experiences, experiences that become less relevant with each new building cropping up in Republic City. Surely Zuko encounters the same sense of isolation. There is only one Fire Lord, and he is expected to lead a whole nation. Yet the way he talks about his wife and daughter in his letters makes it seem like he'll never feel lonely again, the way he used to. It's selfish, Aang knows, but sometimes he longs for the days like the ones following the Harmony Restoration Movement. In the comfort of the Jasmine Dragon, with cups of green tea, he and Zuko both admitted that they struggled to adjust to their new roles leading their nations.

Zuko understands what it's like to occupy a position that no one else can hold, yet everyone looks up to. So does Aang. The constant scrutiny wears on him. Katara sympathizes with him, but she is not the Avatar. She is not saddled with the burden of balancing the Four Nations.

The feeling of reaching for clouds and grasping at nothing, of falling through the sky without his bending to save him overtakes Aang some mornings when he jolts awake. He wants to ask Zuko if he's felt that, too, if sometimes the pressure of running a nation makes it hard to catch his breath in the evening. But he doesn't want to trouble his friend, so Aang chalks the sensation up to old age. Another thing he never had to worry about during his travels with his friends.

When Tenzin challenges him to a game of air ball at the abandoned Southern Air Temple, Aang promises to wallop him. However, he notices his own bending grows sloppy, the movements harder to smooth. The score is 21-19, in Tenzin's favor, and Aang chuckles once he realizes that he might not be the only airbending master alive. The loneliness eases against his throat. He releases a deep breath, one he didn't realize he was holding.

The day that Tenzin receives his tattoos is long, and Aang aches for his son, who holds back cries of pain. Aang performs the tattoos himself to carry on the traditions of the monks. One day, Tenzin will have children of his own and do the same for them, and his children for their children, until the Air Nation flourishes again.

Katara takes care to wipe the blood from Tenzin's arms as his father needles him thousands of times, but even Katara's healing touch cannot prevent Tenzin from whimpering through his teeth. Unbidden, the image of another boy screaming under his father's touch arises in Aang's mind. Spirits, it was a miracle that Zuko didn't turn out more twisted. More bitter. Despite his upbringing, he fulfills his duty as Fire Lord justly, and his role as father kindly. Aang remembers observing how Zuko embraces his daughter, encourages her to speak up in their meeting with his council, always offers her the last fire flake dumpling after dinner. Zuko manages to educate and love Izumi without relying on fear like his father did.

Once Tenzin's tattoos are complete, Aang kneels by his bed and prays to his forefathers that his son grows up to be better than himself, more mindful and more aware of the good that surrounds him. A son that looks forward to the future while seeking to rebuild his family's past.

On the day of Tenzin's air master ceremony, Aang scans the crowd for Zuko, desperately seeking for reassurance that consigning his son to a lonely life as a bender without a tribe is the right thing to do. His isolation chafes, and the idea of setting apart his son— of giving him the same solemn responsibility to restore their nation— worries Aang. But it must be done. It is their family's duty. Who better to understand duty than Zuko?

The Fire Lord cannot come, or so his letter says. Aang understands. One cannot pause a kingdom, put its needs on hold for a godson's anointing in Republic City. Never mind that Aang had left Katara to settle a particularly tense peace accord over trade between the Northern and Southern Water Tribes so he could be there for Izumi's christening.

Aang watches for his friend in the flames of the candles burning at the altar that his son kneels in front of. As his son removes his orange hood, Aang thinks of his attempt to recreate Yangchen's Festival with his air acolytes. Toph's question from that day rings in his head: "Don't you think you're trying a little too hard to hold onto the past?" Looking at his son's tattooed head, Aang wonders briefly why he yearns for the past so strongly when the future is so promising. After waiting over a hundred years, the Avatar is no longer the only airbending master.

At the change of each season, Aang's bones ache. Sometimes Tenzin saddles up his sky-bison, Oogi, for diplomatic missions when Appa isn't feeling up for the journey. Appa has started shedding, his back patchy with sores that won't heal under Katara's touch.

Aang's mind has been wandering lately. He notices his focus dulling and his concentration dimming. At dinner one evening, he's regaling his children with the story of Sokka and Foo Foo Cuddlypoops. Bumi laughs so hard at the beast's name, he spits into Kya's soup. Katara's hands move to her hips, but her gentle smile at the mention of her brother encourages Aang to keep talking. So he does, describing Sokka trapped in the crack, thanks to his failed hunting attempt. And... well... Aang can't remember what animal Sokka was pursuing. After so many years, his brain struggles to picture the details. His pause must be noticeable, because Katara jumps in after a few silent moments, filling in the details she's heard a dozen times. Her worried glances speaks volumes; Aang knows she's concerned about him and hates it.

He hates the way his mouth struggles to keep up with his brain during long conversations with Tenzin as they recline on Appa's back. He hates the looks Tenzin gives him when he loses a word, when a detail eludes him but hovers on the edge of his consciousness, tempting him. His son's pity only serves to distract him more from the thoughts just out of his reach.

Hearing from Zuko that he's considering abdicating the throne in favor of Izumi squeezes the breath out of Aang's lungs. The Avatar doesn't get the luxury of retiring. Of course he'd love nothing more than to sit by Katara, watching Bumi plan great military exploits or Kya learn new healing techniques. But he and Tenzin, they are airbenders. The burden of peace falls on their shoulders. And Aang can't burden Zuko by admitting this. Envy is not a quality befitting an Avatar. Or a friend.

So he swallows bitterly when he receives word that Zuko is preparing Izumi to rule in his stead in the near future. Aang sends him a letter, thanking Zuko for his years of service to the Fire Nation and the United Republic. He promises to visit, yet Aang knows it's a lie even as he writes the words. He wouldn't be able to hide his exhaustion if they met. It would be cruel to worry the Fire Lord now that he's almost earned a few years of rest.

The words past and passed blur in Aang's mind. Time passes, and the past muddles together with the present. Sometimes he laughs with Sokka, only to realize that it's Bumi by his side. Kya looks like her mother did years ago; what beauties both of them are. Aang knows his body is old— spirits, he's 165 years old. Time to move on to the Spirit World soon, he feels it. Even though he's not ready for it. Even though he can't bear the thought of leaving his family— Katara, their children, Sokka, Toph, Zuko.

The last time Aang sees Izumi, he's struck by the way her her brows crease like her father's, the way the thin line of her mouth imitates his. One glance at her face, and Aang is twelve again, studying Zuko's angular cheeks as he pledges his allegiance to the Avatar's quest to overthrow Ozai. Izumi's golden eyes are warm, her carriage regal— no doubt this is a princess fit to rule the Fire Nation someday.

Zuko knows who his successor will be; he's had time to train her to become the ruler his nation needs. The privilege of training a successor is a foreign concept to Aang. Although he'll never admit it, he thinks about the next Avatar as he looks at the next Fire Lord. He tries picturing what the waterbender will look like; he ends up imagining a child with Katara's eyes and Sokka's unruly hair. He wonders when his family will meet the new Avatar, how they will react to his reincarnation. Looking at Izumi, he does not question that Zuko has raised and trained her well. She will carry on her father's work when he is too tired to go on. Aang hopes he's taught Tenzin well enough so that he can pass on his airbending knowledge to the next Avatar.

This uncertainty unsettles Aang. Another reminder of his age. He used to be so flexible; now he longs for something concrete to hold to as his lifetime crawls to an end. His friends are fading; so is his mind. So he clings to Izumi, the Crown Princess of the Fire Nation who holds Zuko's world in her palms. Zuko may not need Aang anymore, but he needs Izumi to continue the progress his reign has made.

The last time Aang sees Izumi, relief courses through his veins. He realizes that his breath comes easier, his whole body relaxes in her presence. He knows his friend is in good hands. She'll guide Zuko through the rest of his life here, and when he dies, Aang will be waiting to guide him into the life to come.


End file.
